Luckily, the physical condition of our parks does not prevent our use of them.

A late fall shot of the sometimes under-represented part of downtown. A beauty to behold, it is.

On a Friday night in October, my husband and I set off on foot to capture real-time audio and corresponding pictures- from my doorstep through downtown and back again.

I haven’t had to time to edit the audio (which includes great clips from inside the Gulch with Rev. Roxy and inside the Emp with George Bieri), but enjoy the shots in the meantime…

I wish I knew the history of this place.

All I know is that it is covered in honeysuckle, some parts under layers of yearly deposits of dirt, dust, and debris. But still, every time I come around I am enchanted by the chunks of stone/concrete seats in the round; the abandoned but brilliant essence of the place. I love the rustic grass pathway that leads you down behind the pottery studio.

I want to see it cleaned up a bit. I want to see kids playing a funny (abridged!) version of the Canterbury Tales in the big circle. Maybe a skit by the Antioch McGregor Classics productions or the Living History Theater company, or an acoustic show with the Corn Daddies or Ryan Judy or Rob Heiliger sitting on some stumps.

If this place were in my backyard, I would set up a dining room table and deck it with linens and candles for a hearty fall sup. You bring the wine, and we’ll toast to the idiots.

As with any category of things one can point to and label as this or that, there is a large variety of the sorts and shapes of bicycles one sees in Yellow Springs.

Still, one thing I’m pretty sure of is that you don’t see these bicycles in Beavercreek…

Crickets and cicadas- and the barely distant clash-cracking of skateboards- is the dominant hum near the Community Pottery Studio. You might be lucky enough to hear the laughing of little ones, occasionally backed by the low rumble of a diesel Village truck as it passes through the Bryan Center parking lot.

The pottery center has always seemed to me the hub of a community unto its own, potters being amicable people into sharing the craft with others. I remember thinking the tile-making workshops were really interesting, and their outcome is nothing short of impressive. I chose pieces that caught my eye, but if you happen by the remainder might surprise you.

With camera in hand, the red wall of the Village Artisans gallery seemed more appealing than ever before. This is a new kind of Unordered List.

My kids and I had just entered downtown from photographing the parks and pottery building behind the Bryan Center when I saw three (always larger than life) turkey vultures riding a wind current above the Dayton Street buildings. By the time I propped my bike against myself (carefully, with three year old perched on back) they had busied themselves elsewhere. But with the late summer Ohio sky against the old red brick in my viewfinder, it was clear to me that the great beauty in simple things is often missed by the passerby.

I am fond of this picture, and find it very appropriate for a project that intends to know something about the lived experience of locals with young children. I can’t tell you how many times Elaine spontaneously helped me with my children downtown and (annually) at the Glen Helen Pancake Breakfast. I’m sure she didn’t know my name, but this was of no consequence because we knew each other just the same. I call that community.

Every now and then the signs that mark the storefronts downtown seem even more vibrant than usual against the backdrop of the Winds Wine Cellar. Even on a drab day, they speak of the colorful nature of Yellow Springs- quirky, yet authentic in a rugged kind of way.

In the hustle and bustle of passing through this door, I have never realized how blue it is. I love how the edge is worn bare by hands of locals and strangers. My favorite part is near the bottom, where one with full hands might prop the door open for her little ones with a winter boot, or where another in sandals might stop it for a passing stroller. This door suddenly seems so deserving of our attention, and seeing it- even here- I can smell the coffee and the fresh baked goods; I can hear the piano and the lively conversation.

Folks elsewhere claim the art of the conversation is dead, but I know better.

See Also:Xenia Ave. Love Song #2